


The Tragical History of Mr Hathaway

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Impatient-but-caring opera-loving ghost, Lewis Fright Fest 2014, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Yes, you’re dead. Whether you stay that way is another matter.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tragical History of Mr Hathaway

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FrightFest 2014 on the Lewis_Challenge comm. The title is adapted from _The Tragical History of Dr Faustus_ by Christopher Marlowe.
> 
> With more thanks than I can say to Divingforstones, without whose encouragement, suggestions and repeated BRing this fic would not have been finished and I would have had to default.

_**Christmas Eve, 2002; almost midnight** _

“James Hathaway. _James Hathaway_.”

The voice is insistent, but faint, as if it’s coming from a long way away. He tries to focus on the direction, but everything’s fuzzy, out of focus.

_”Hathaway! Look at me.”_

He looks slowly around in every direction, but sees nothing. 

“Focus.”

Everything’s dark but, as he tries to look in the direction he thinks the voice is coming from, suddenly there are lights near him. Flashing blue lights below — _below?_

“What — what’s happening?”

“Look down, Hathaway. Down on the ground.”

The ground? Frowning, he looks down. There’s an ambulance, and police cars. And a dark car stopped in the middle of the road. And in front of the car, a figure lying on the ground, not moving. There’s a splash of pale hair on the person’s head.

James squints, looking closer at the frozen tableau laid out below. He makes out jeans and a green Barbour jacket, and white trainers.

Slowly, disbelieving, he looks down at himself. Green Barbour jacket, jeans, white trainers.

“What—”

“Yes, that’s you, Mr Hathaway. You weren’t having a very good evening, were you? You drank almost an entire bottle of Scotch on your own, then went out to meet some friends at a pub, where you drank some more. You decided to walk home, and that’s when this happened.”

This. And, yes, he vaguely remembers it now. He hadn’t wanted to go out, hadn’t wanted to meet Jonjo and Will and Feardorcha, but Jonjo had played the guilt card. He owed it to Will, didn’t he? For not being supportive of his relationship back in the autumn. 

So he’d gone, and he’d drunk silently until just before closing time, and then made his excuses. And the car had come out of nowhere...

There’s blood everywhere; he can see it now in the headlights of the police car parked in front of the body. 

Body?

“Yes, you’re dead. Whether you stay that way is another matter.”

He’s dead. At the age of twenty-four, and with nothing meaningful to show for his short life. What a waste. What a stupid fucking—

 _What_ had the man said? Who is he, anyway? The cultured, deliberate tone, with more than a hint of disapproval, isn’t at all familiar to him. “What do you mean, whether I stay—?”

“You’ve recently walked away from what you thought was going to be your life-long occupation. Your _vocation_ , in fact. You’re estranged from the people who were once your closest friends. And you don’t know what you’re going to do next. You’re not sure that there is anything left for you. You might not have stepped in front of that car deliberately, but you weren’t behaving like a man who cared much whether he lived or died.” 

James takes a shuddering breath, and another glance down at himself on the ground. “How is this happening? How do you know all this?”

“That’s not important. What is important is that you died here tonight. You are dead, right this minute. However, I’m willing to offer you a second chance, if you’re willing to take it. A chance to do something worthwhile before you die.” 

This isn’t making any sense. “Who are you? How can you do this?” He stares in the direction the voice is coming from, but he can’t see anything.

“Who I am doesn’t matter. James Hathaway, I have a very important job for you, and one which I believe you may find even more rewarding than your previous choice.”

“But if I’m dead, then how—”

“Dead or alive? You’re neither right at this moment. In between, you could say. With a snap of my fingers, the final decision is made. Will those paramedics examine you to find a pulse? Or will they find that your heart’s stopped? That, James Hathaway, all depends on you. A second chance, to do something worthwhile with whatever additional time you will have until your task is completed, or... everything ended here, now.”

His heart feels as if it’s racing, yet when he presses a hand to his chest it’s not moving. “What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do?”

Invisible hands come to rest at the sides of his head. A sibilant voice whispers, but he can’t make out the words. And then he’s released, and the man says, “It’s done. When you wake up, you won’t remember any of this — but I will see you again when your task is complete.”

“I—” James begins, but everything’s hazy suddenly. His head’s throbbing, and pain is coursing through his entire body. There are lights everywhere, and voices speaking to him and around him, and then there’s a mask over his nose and mouth and he closes his eyes, letting the paramedics take care of him.

He never saw the car coming. _Lucky escape..._

* * *

**_One evening in December 2013_ **

“Another, Robbie? They’ve just called last orders.”

Robbie frowns, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “D’you mind if I don’t, Laura?”

She lays a hand on his arm. “You’re worried about James.”

“He said he’d be here, but he’s not, and he’s not answering his phone.” 

“Got caught up with something and just forgot, maybe?”

Robbie shakes his head. “He’d still answer his phone. Besides, what’s he got to get caught up in? He’s not working.”

Laura nods. “Want me to come with you?”

“Best not. You know what he’s like. If it turns out to be nothing, he’ll be pissed off enough that I’m makin’ a fuss without you being there an’ all.”

“All right.” She leans up to kiss him. “Call me and let me know, won’t you?”

“Course,” he promises as he hurries out.

* * *

There’s a light on in James’s flat. So he is in. Robbie knocks, but no-one comes to the door. With visions of the bloke lying unconscious on the floor, Robbie puts his ear to the door and listens.

After a moment, he hears James’s voice. All right. So he’s home and safe. Not out cold or anything else Robbie’s been imagining. He’s clearly got company, which is a good thing — would’ve just been nice of him to pick up the phone to say he wouldn’t be coming to the pub.

Robbie’s about to walk away when, suddenly, he hears James shouting. There’s anger in the bloke’s voice, but that’s not what makes him decide on his next step. It’s the fear underpinning it.

Without hesitation, he finds the key James gave him years ago, and lets himself into the flat. 

James is alone. He’s sitting huddled up in his armchair, arms wrapped around himself. His posture’s defensive, but his eyes flash angrily as he seems to glare at something Robbie can’t see. “All right, I remember now, but you can’t turn up and demand your pound of flesh with no notice at all!”

“James? Who are you talking to?” He’s not holding a phone, and he doesn’t seem to have an earpiece either.

James’s head whips around. “Robbie! What are you doing here?”

“Laura an’ me were worried when you didn’t come to the pub. Sorry I let meself in, but you didn’t answer the door.”

“I didn’t hear you knock.” He’s looking perturbed, and none too happy that Robbie’s there. “Look, I’m... a bit tied up. D’you mind...?”

Before Robbie can answer, an agonised expression appears on James’s face. “No!” he exclaims. “I’m not trying to — But you have to see I’m not prepared!”

“James!” What the hell’s happened to him? Nervous breakdown? Well, he’s been on edge ever since — well, long before he resigned from the force. Though Robbie’d thought he was starting to get better over the last month or so, more relaxed. More at ease with himself. Robbie’s hand slides into his pocket, searching for his phone. Laura first, not any crisis line. If the bloke does need to be sectioned... oh, Christ, it better not go that far.

Bugger. Must’ve left his phone in the car.

James groans audibly. “I don’t suppose you’d just leave and pretend you were never here, if I asked you to?”

“Bit late for that now, man.” Robbie carefully, slowly makes his way towards the armchair. It doesn’t escape him that he’s following training for approaching a potentially unstable suspect.

But then he’s halted firmly by what he’d swear is a hand pressed solidly against his chest — except there’s no-one there. James is still in the chair, and there’s no-one else in the room.

“He says you’re obviously not going anywhere, so I should just tell you.” James sounds resigned, and in a way almost relieved. “I’m glad, really,” he adds, his voice turning soft. “At least it means I can say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? What the—?” Robbie tries pushing against the force still pressed to his chest, but it doesn’t move.

“It’s a long story. And you’re just going to have to suspend disbelief.” James leans forward in his chair, head in his hands. “Also, before you say I should have told you this before, I wasn’t allowed to remember until just a few minutes ago.”

Wasn’t allowed to remember? Okay, Robbie really should be phoning the mental health crisis team now, except — well, this is James, his friend. And there’s that invisible force flat against his chest; where the hell is that coming from?

“Let him go. He’s hardly going to be able to stop you, is he?” That’s obviously to the imaginary person James believes he’s talking to, and Robbie almost smiles at the force with which James is arguing on his behalf. Still fiercely loyal.

The pressure — which really is like an invisible hand — is removed. “He says you can sit over there.” James indicates the sofa.

Robbie sits, thoughts racing. Does he actually believe that there’s an invisible man in the room communicating with James? Surely not — but then what was that pushing him back just a moment ago? 

The most important thing right now is that James doesn’t seem to be a danger to himself. So Robbie doesn’t have to make any immediate decisions about running back to the car to call for help. He can stay and try to help the lad, which seems to be what James wants.

“It happened almost eleven years ago — just after I’d left the seminary,” James begins, staring down at his hands.

“What happened?”

“I got knocked down by a car and killed.” 

Robbie almost falls off the couch. “ _What?_ James—”

“Sir — Robbie. Please, bear with me.” The sincerity in James’s voice makes him bite back his questions and objections. Everything he knows of James tells him the lad wouldn’t make this up. Whatever’s going on, James genuinely believes in the truth of what he’s saying. “I know it sounds fantastic, and I wouldn’t have believed it myself, except that... well, I remember it happening now. I remember staring down at my own dead body on the road, and the same voice that’s talking to me this evening talking to me then — striking a bargain with me.”

Okay, he’ll go along with this for now. Robbie asks, “What sort of bargain?”

“I could have a... well, I suppose an extension to my life, so long as I did something for him in return. I didn’t remember anything about it from the moment I woke up on the road with paramedics working on me until he turned up here again tonight. But I must have been subconsciously aware of it, because it seems I achieved the task he set me.”

“And what was that?”

“To make sure you were all right. To take care of you. And, if I could, help you find the happiness you deserve a second time. And... well, my task is complete, isn’t it? You and Dr Hobson.”

Robbie’s jaw slackens. “You’re joking. You’re saying this... bargain you’re talking about is all about _me_? But you didn’t even know me then.” James nods. Robbie frowns. “Wait. Eleven years ago, you said?” _Val_.

“Yes. Christmas Eve 2002, to be precise.” Less than a week after Val — and there’s no way that can be a coincidence. 

Does he actually believe any of this? But he knows James isn’t making it up. He wouldn’t. Even aside from the fact that James doesn’t invent things, he’d never be this cruel, linking his insane fantasy to Val’s death.

Has all the stress he’s been under over the past months triggered some kind of crisis? But James doesn’t sound like any of the mentally unstable people Robbie has engaged with over the years. He sounds too much like his familiar self to be obviously hallucinating. And he’s meeting Robbie’s eyes directly. When he engages in conversation with Robbie, as opposed to his imaginary visitor, it’s lucid and coherent — well, apart from the bits about this ludicrous bargain he’s claiming to have made. He seems to be following his usual logical process of reasoning, even if his subject-matter is utterly bizarre.

James sighs. “He says I’m wasting my time. You don’t believe a word of what I’m saying.”

Robbie can hardly deny it. He pulls a face. “You know me, James. When have I ever believed in the supernatural? When have you, for that matter?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues. “Besides, whether I believe you or not, I don’t see the point. Why bring me into this?”

James’s hands start to twitch, and Robbie knows he’s itching for a cigarette. “I honestly don’t know. All I know is what he’s chosen to tell me. And—” He breaks off suddenly, and by the angry expression on his face it looks like he’s listening again.

Robbie’s ready to go over and shake the bloke, tell him to snap out of it, when abruptly James speaks again. “Apparently, I’m out of time. So...” He takes a long, shaky breath. “I just want to say thank you. Sir. For everything. It’s been a privilege to work with you, and to know you. And I do wish you and Dr Hobson every happi—” 

“Stop it.” Voice harsh, Robbie cuts across James. “You’re not doing this. You’re going nowhere.”

“I’m afraid I am.” James is clearly struggling to keep his voice steady now. “My time’s up. It’s not so bad,” he adds, swallowing visibly. “I’ve had eleven extra years, after all. I got to know you, and work with you...”

James pulls himself to his feet as he speaks, and starts pacing slowly, head bowed and hands in his pockets — the very picture of a man defeated.

Right now, Robbie doesn’t give a fuck whether or not he believes in the insane story James is telling him. James believes it, and James believes he’s about to die. 

So he’ll play along. What was James’s side of the bargain? Right. “You think I could be happy without you? Does _he_ think that?”

James shrugs, casting Robbie a brief glance. “He says you won’t even remember me once I’m gone.”

“What? I worked with you for more than seven years! How could I forget that?”

James’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Oh, you’ll remember you had a sergeant, but that he moved away when you retired.”

 _Sod_ that! “So, what? To all intents and purposes, James Hathaway died on the road eleven years ago? And I never met you?”

“As I understand it, yes.”

“An’ all because I’m seeing Laura now?” 

James nods, swallowing again. Robbie curses silently. “But I won’t have you to take care of me,” he points out, deliberately using the words James had used earlier.

“You have Dr Hobson. You don’t need me.”

“That’s what you think. Or what he thinks.” In one abrupt, lightning movement, Robbie reaches out and grips James’s hand, pulling the bloke onto the sofa beside him. Even if he doesn’t believe any of this, James does, and he won’t have the lad thinking he’s not wanted. Not needed. “What if Laura’s not right for me? For all you — or he — knows, we could’ve already called it a day.”

“You haven’t, though.” The pain in James’s eyes makes his heart twist.

“No, but—”

James just... _fades_ suddenly. He’s still there, but it’s like looking at a reflection through a window.

 _Christ_. What if he really is fighting for James’s life here? It doesn’t make any sense, but...

There’s only one solution Robbie can think of. He reaches for James again, sliding one hand firmly around the back of his head. “Listen, you bastard, whoever you are! I love him!”

And, without hesitation, he leans in and kisses James.

* * *

James goes rigid, and then after a moment begins to pull away. Robbie grips him tightly to prevent him; the only way this is going to work is if they’re convincing. To his relief, James relaxes and starts to kiss him back — and, as he does, his shape solidifies again.

The kiss is weird — but what’s weird about it isn’t the stubble against his cheek, or the faint scent of James’s very masculine aftershave, but the fact that he likes it. And that it’s easy to move in closer, to deepen the kiss, to nibble along the edge of James’s lip to tease him into nibbling back.

And then James starts, and pulls back. Robbie immediately moves towards him, reaching to pull him closer again — he’s fighting for his best mate’s life here, can’t James see that?

Hang on, does that mean he believes what James is telling him?

“Apparently, you need to make up your mind. You can’t have Dr Hobson and me, or so he says.” James’s voice is deadpan, but his eyes... He’s not meeting Robbie’s gaze, and if Robbie didn’t know better he’d think the lad believes Robbie’s let him down somehow. Betrayed him.

“Oi.” He rubs the back of James’s neck. “What is it?”

“I don’t want...” James’s gaze drops to his lap. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but pretending won’t solve anything.”

“Who says I was pretending?” It’s a lie, he tells himself, for the benefit of... whatever it is that’s doing this, making James believe he has to leave. 

James fades again, and Robbie swears. And in that instant, he knows it’s not a lie. He seizes James’s hand in his free one. After a second or two, James’s fingers tighten around his, and his familiar form becomes fully visible again.

“He says, assuming you’re not pretending, you still can’t have your cake and eat it,” James says after a pause.

Robbie snorts. “Well, he’s got no hold over me, whoever he is, an’ if I want you as well as Laura then I’ll bloody well have you and keep you.”

“But you can’t—”

“You still think I’m just saying it to make him go away? No chance.” He leans closer and kisses James again, harder this time. And how he’s going to explain this to Laura he has no idea. Only one answer to that one: cross that bridge when he comes to it. Hanging onto James is more important than anything else.

When he releases James this time, they’re both breathless. He wraps his arm around the lad’s shoulders, holding James against him, partly in the hope that it might prevent him from disappearing again, but mostly because he can’t let his canny lad go.

“You’re mine,” he says, fierce, possessive. “That bastard, whoever he is, is _not_ taking you from me.”

James’s hand clenches around his, and he raises his gaze to Robbie again, eyes filled with wonder. Robbie _needs_ to kiss him again, and he’s about to, but abruptly James gives a bark of laughter.

“He says you always were a stubborn sod.”

Robbie stares at James, and then beyond him into the empty room. “ _Morse?_ ”

* * *

“Took you long enough, Lewis.” The dry, sarcastic voice hasn’t changed one bit — and nor, Robbie realises, has the fondness underlying it.

“What? This is Chief Inspector Morse?” Then the incredulity in James’s voice disappears. “It makes sense, I suppose. You were close for a very long time. Of course he’d care about your well-being. He’d hate to see you grieving and unhappy.”

Morse. It’s been Morse all along, trying to take James from him — but also _giving_ James to him. Making sure he wouldn’t be alone indefinitely after losing Val. And what would his life have been like these past seven or more years without James? Where would he be now, without his awkward sod by his side all this time?

Not with Laura, that’s certain. Because he could never have got to the point where he could feel comfortable about trying again without everything James has done for him over the years: not just the significant events such as catching Monkford, but all the times James has been by his side with a word, a touch, a gesture to keep someone away when necessary. 

“Sir.” He stands, still gripping James by the hand; James stands beside him. “Thank you for thinking of me. It was kind of you, and I appreciate it. But this isn’t kind. James did what you asked, better than anyone else could’ve, and you’re punishing him an’ me by trying to take him away.”

Morse sighs; the sound’s audible. “As he has explained, Lewis, we had a bargain.”

“Yeah. To see that I was all right, an’ to help me find happiness a second time.” Robbie glances down at James’s hand in his. “He did. With him.”

“With Dr Hobson.” Morse’s tone is chiding, the superior officer correcting the junior, and the tone is so familiar.

Robbie pulls a face. “With him first. If I hadn’t had him, I don’t think I’d ever have got over losing Val enough to be ready to be with Laura. And it’s not like bein’ with Laura means I don’t need James any more. So if you take him away from me now, you’re just gonna undo all the good work you arranged for him to do.”

James is staying silent, leaving this to Robbie and Morse — but he’s staying close. Good.

“How on earth do you imagine Dr Hobson is going to react to this, Robbie?” Morse exclaims.

Robbie keeps his expression unconcerned — but that’s the big problem, isn’t it? And James knows it, too. How the hell is he going to explain this to Laura?

“Dr Hobson is perfectly all right with this, Chief Inspector.” Oh, _shit_. Laura’s tart tone’s coming from the doorway. In unison, Robbie and James swing around to look at her.

Laura moves into the flat, pushing the door shut behind her. “I apologise for eavesdropping, James. I was worried about you, and Robbie wasn’t answering his phone, so I came over. I just intended to see if you were here and then go home, but the door was open and I heard the two of you talking.” And she wouldn’t have been able to leave, not with what she was hearing.

“Doctor,” Morse begins, with a patronising tone Robbie’s very familiar with. He barely stifles a smile, knowing how Laura will react to that.

“No, Morse.” Laura cuts across him. “You always were a bloody old-fashioned chauvinist, weren’t you? Never believed women were capable of making their own decisions. Well, let me tell you that we are, and I certainly don’t need you to tell Robbie how he has to behave towards me.”

“I’m only trying—”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not necessary. Look.” Laura crosses the room to stand beside Robbie and James. “I’m grateful — we all are — that you gave us the chance to get to know James. You did something good there. What you’re trying to do now isn’t good. And as for what Robbie’s told you...” She turns to smile at the two of them. “I’ve always known how important James is to Robbie. I _don’t_ have a problem sharing Robbie with James. And I think I’d quite like a share in things as well, if James is interested.”

Bloody hell, he didn’t expect that — but then maybe he should. How many times has Laura referred to James as _dishy_? And he’s certain that he’s caught her glancing at the lad’s arse a time or two.

“If I might say something?” James steps forward, freeing his hand from Robbie’s. “First, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Chief Inspector. As you can imagine, I’ve heard a lot about you. Second, I do want to thank you. Without your intervention, I would never have experienced the privilege of having Robbie Lewis as my governor for the last seven years — nor would I have got to know Dr Hobson,” he adds, glancing towards Laura, and then to Robbie. “If I do end up dying here this evening, I want you both to know it was so very worth it.”

“Over my dead body,” Laura announces, and moves to James’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Do you hear me, Morse? And then I’ll haunt you for the rest of your ghostly existence!”

Robbie moves to James’s other side, looping an arm around the lad’s waist as well. “Goes for me too,” he says, barely managing to stifle a grin despite the seriousness of the situation. “An’ I’ll play Aussie country music every chance I get!”

Morse sighs audibly, and that sound is so familiar. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lewis.”

James gets in before Robbie can answer. “Robbie. Laura. I appreciate everything you’ve said and done far more than I can say. But we don’t even know if it’s possible for my fate to change. I agreed to a bargain, and I remember agreeing of my own free will. The terms have been fulfilled on both sides. What right do I have to demand that what I agreed to should be changed now?”

“Every right,” Robbie growls. “You say you agreed of your own free will. What alternative did you have?” He turns his head in the direction where Morse’s voice has been coming from — Christ, if only he could see the old bastard. “You’d usually be the first to complain about that sort of thing, sir. You’d say he’d been coerced.”

“Life is rarely fair, Lewis,” Morse retorts. “How many times did I have to remind you of that? But,” he continues in a different tone, “let’s say I were able to... remove Hathaway’s obligation. Allow him to live a normal life. Of what would that life consist? When I gave you back your life eleven years ago, Hathaway, you had just walked away from your prior career choice, tail between your legs. And now you’ve done exactly the same thing. One might wonder what the former Inspector Lewis sees in you at all.”

To his credit, James doesn’t let Morse’s scorn affect him. “I’ve never understood what Inspector Lewis sees in me but, regardless, my career choices are my own decision. That said—” He turns to Robbie. “Since it’s come up, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve had a couple of conversations with Innocent. I was intending — before this evening, anyway — to go back to the force.”

“And sit for OSPRE?” James nods. “Good man.” Robbie pats James’s back. “But only if it’s what you want. I was wrong to push you before.”

“It is,” James confirms. “You were right. I just needed a break. I’ve been thinking this over for a few weeks now, and made my decision a few days ago.”

Laura stretches up and presses a kiss to James’s cheek. “You’ll make an excellent inspector. And at least I’ve already got you well-trained.”

Morse coughs pointedly. “I am still here. Lewis?”

“Sir?”

“Since this was for your benefit in the first place — are you absolutely certain about this?”

“Already told you. Yes.”

Morse heaves yet another sigh. “Oh, very well, then.” 

James staggers suddenly, then almost doubles over, moaning. Robbie grabs at him, trying to hold him steady. He and Laura guide the lad back to the sofa, and Laura kneels in front of James, murmuring quietly to him while she assesses him. 

“Oh, do stop fussing.” Morse sounds thoroughly irritated now. “There’s nothing wrong with him. I’ve done what you asked for, and he’ll probably outlive all of us now — or he would if he gave up smoking.”

“He’s right.” James raises his head, and the despair in his eyes is completely gone. “Thank you, Chief Inspector. And thank you, Robbie, Laura.”

Robbie’s legs won’t hold him up. He drops to the couch next to James and pulls the bloke into a hug, and a moment later Laura joins them.

* * *

A cough reminds him that they still have company. Robbie stands, pressing a hand to James’s shoulder to urge him to stay put. “Sir, I do want to thank—”

“I’d rather you didn’t bore me, Lewis.”

Robbie can’t hold back his smile; that’s so typical of his old governor. Would never be thanked. Wouldn’t even let Robbie acknowledge the fact that he’d done something considerate — not even the time he’d saved Robbie’s life.

And this time, even though his gut’s still churning at the knowledge of how close he’d come to losing James thanks to Morse, he’s very aware that he would never have had James in his life in the first place if not for Morse. Morse, wanting to know that Robbie had someone to look after him in his pain and grief.

Yes, part of his solution wasn’t thought through properly and downright cruel, but wasn’t that Morse all over? Got a lot of things right, but usually got at least one thing spectacularly wrong. Why should it be any different now he’s dead?

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a faint movement... then, as he looks over to the corner of James’s living-room, there’s a shape. It’s faint, like a reflection — exactly the way James looked earlier when he was fading — but it’s definitely Morse. The shock of white hair, the bushy eyebrows over twinkling blue eyes, the short, squat figure, looking better than he did during the last case Robbie’d worked on with him.

And, in the same moment, he knows this will be the very last time he sees his former boss.

Robbie raises a hand in farewell. “Goodbye, sir.”

Morse nods in acknowledgement. “Take care of yourself, Robbie.” His gaze shifts. “Dr Hobson. Hathaway.”

And then he’s gone.

* * *

James stands, looking from Robbie to Laura and back. “Thank you — both of you. I owe you my life.”

And, yes, it’s just dawning on Robbie that if he hadn’t been worried enough about James to come over here, he’d have lost his best mate. James would have died, and even worse, Robbie would never have remembered what the bloke had been to him. Wouldn’t remember that he’d even known him.

It’s making him choke up so much that he can’t say anything. He just looks at James, at the same time blindly reaching out for Laura’s hand out of a need for comfort.

“You... you needn’t worry,” James adds, sliding his hands into his jeans pockets. “Of course I’m not assuming you meant any of what you said, either of you. The important thing is that it worked.”

What? How can the stupid tosser still think that? After everything Robbie said; after those bloody marvellous kisses?

“James Hathaway, don’t be any more of a bloody idiot than you can help.” Laura lets go of Robbie’s hand, walks straight over to James, and smacks him in the chest. “I meant what I said. And so did Robbie. We love you. If you can’t see that, then you need new contact lenses and a hearing aid.”

“Laura, I don’t want either of you to feel obliged...” Stupid sod still doesn’t get it.

“Just shut up and kiss me — unless you don’t want to.” Laura, hands on her hips, looks straight up at James.

A slow smile spreads across James’s face; he looks happier than Robbie’s ever seen him before. He lowers his head, at the same time reaching up to take Laura’s face carefully, almost reverently, between both of his hands, and gently kisses her.

Laura wraps her arms around James’s neck, and the kiss doesn’t stay gentle for very long. Watching them, Robbie’s breath catches. They’re gorgeous together, and he wonders why none of them thought of this before now.

Then first James, and then Laura, hold out their hands to him, and all thinking gives way to doing.

* * *

**_A week later_ **

Robbie carries his tray of drinks across the Old Victoria’s empty beer-garden. They’re sitting outside at his suggestion, not because of James — in fact, James is actually giving up smoking. He says it’s got nothing to do with Morse and it’s only because he doesn’t want to inflict smoker’s breath on Robbie and Laura, but Robbie’s not convinced that Morse has nothing to do with it.

He sets the tray down on their usual table and passes Laura her red wine before setting pints of bitter at his and James’s seats. James raises an eyebrow. “Did you miscount?” He nods at the third pint left on the tray.

Robbie smiles. “Nah.”

He places the third pint by the vacant space at the table, then sits and raises his own glass in the direction of the empty chair, a fond smile on his face. “Cheers, sir.”

* * *


End file.
